


Regrets, or Lack Thereof

by Ranowa



Series: The AU in which Hughes Lives [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blindness, Disability, F/M, Hughes clan feels, Maes Hughes Lives, Parental Roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-28 14:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10833453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: Post-series AU: in which Maes can't figure out why Roy committed taboo for him, Roy (re)adjusts to being blind, and Elicia just wants a hug. Ch 2: Elicia Hughes and parental Roy.





	1. Chapter 1

 

"Do you have any idea how furious I am with you?"

"I think I've got an idea, yes."

"...Roy."

"Maes."

"Stop _smiling!"_

If anything, the hoarse half-shout just makes his smile even broader than before.

Maes sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, and wonders if Roy really is trying to stress him into an aneurysm after all.

Another half-glance in Roy's direction and he sighs again, realizing he really can't be angry, not when his friend looks like that. He's currently occupying himself stretching like a big, contented cat, long and lazy and absolutely, blissfully unconcerned with the fact that he's being yelled at- for god's sake, he looked about to spontaneously combust with happiness. Maes doesn't think he has ever even seen him this happy before.

The fact that he's in a hospital bed, and the space where his eyes are supposed to be is hidden behind a layer of fresh gauze that's already slowly dyeing red with fresh blood, does not seem to be putting a damper on his spirits at all.

"I don't get you at all," he mutters. Or tries to, anyway; the words catch painfully in his throat and his effort to stop it from transforming into a series of harsh coughs fails, and rather badly at that. He would've doubled over if he'd had the strength, heel of his hand pressed to his chest and eyes squeezed shut, sick, in pain, and exhausted.

Some rustling next to him doesn't get the coughing to stop, but it does get him to turn his head, and realize Roy is suddenly fumbling upright, concern etched into every line of his bandaged face. Alarmed, he struggles to hack out some sort of order to stay where he is, that he's fine- but quickly finds out Roy doesn't need any help.

Despite being blind, he moves quickly, confidently trailing a hand along the wall to cross the space between them, even somehow managing to pour out a little plastic cup of water. It overspills some and splashes on his hand, but the fact that he the entire pitcher didn't end up on the floor left him gaping, too stunned to resist when Roy's suddenly at his side, pale face still marked only with concern.

It's even more startling when Roy helps him to sit up, one hand steady and flat against his back while the other hovers around with the water near his face. It's just- well. Roy's not touchy feely, by any definition, but there he is, like it's nothing at all, and, all right, now he's either going to pass out or throw up, and all over poor Roy, too-

"Hey, hey, take it easy. It's all right, you're fine. Take a breath, come on..."

Sitting up helps, taking a breath does not; he's so exhausted now all he can really do is collapse against Roy's arm, head reeling until the spasms stop. Roy pushes the water closer, insistent in a way that belies his worry, and Maes would like to say he doesn't need help, but the truth is that he does.

"...''M fine," he finally manages, giving his hand a little nudge back towards his side of the room. "Sorry. I'm... okay."

Roy tries to laugh at that, at the obvious lie, but its brittle, and pained. He hovers for a moment or two, anxious, then finally just swallows and helps him lie down again. He stands there a moment longer, hesitant by his side like he doesn't want to bring himself to leave- then finally just shakes his head at himself and starting to traverse back. He stops uncertainly in the middle, pausing, and Maes can't help but sigh again.

"To your left," he says quietly, voice even more hoarse than before.

Roy sighs himself, turning back in the proper direction and favoring him with a weak grin as he heads back to his own bed with precisely measured steps, carefully lowering himself down. "Sorry. Guess I got turned around a little."

Maes frowns at him, because while he wouldn't put it past Roy to be trying to put on a brave face, for his sake, that simply can not be the only explanation. He's acting like he's had weeks of experience traversing a hospital blind, not four hours. "Roy... h-how on earth... did you..." He swallows roughly; it still hurts to talk and he can barely catch his breath. "I m-mean-" Well, it'd certainly be tactless to say _not fall flat on your face,_ but...

"Let's just say I've got some experience being blind."

"W-What are you-"

A nurse slips into the room, cutting Maes off sharply into silence. She checks over a silent Roy's bandages, then fusses over Maes, fluffing pillows and stretching sheets. It's an awkward and uncertain silence she creates in her wake, bustling around, and it irks Maes, but he can already feel himself getting tired again, his eyelids drooping the longer and longer the woman checks over him. Five months asleep, and it feels like his body's just forgotten how to stay awake; already he can feel himself slipping under again.

He's still awake enough, just barely, to feel a reflexive flash of guilt when the nurse flicks the light out before she leaves, realizing that he's the only one in the room to have seen it.

Roy clears his throat in the new darkness, and blearily looking over at him again, he sees that same self-assured, relieved, weightless smile as before. "You don't get to be mad, Maes," he said softly, and Maes doesn't think Roy has ever looked so at peace. "It was my choice, and I don't regret a single thing."

"Roy..."

He laughs suddenly, deep and relieved in the darkness, and leans back in his own bed, arm tucked behind his head. "Go back to sleep, Maes," he chuckles, like he'd somehow just _known_ how tired he was, "I promise I'll leave the light out," then chuckles some _more,_ like the fact that he has absolutely no use for light now makes the statement even funnier.

The last thing he sees is Roy curling contentedly on his side, and beaming blindly in his direction.

* * *

" _Oh, General Mustang! You should be in bed. Here, let me-"_

" _Ah, it's not morning yet? My apologies. I thought it was."_

" _General..."_

" _...Just let me stay here for a few more minutes. Please."_

Not even half-awake, Maes turns his head to the other side, groaning as he slips further back into sleep. He fades away again, to the latex-gloved grip of a nurse touching his arm... and the stronger, warmer, more familiar hand, firm around his own.

* * *

It's his daughter that wakes him up next.

He's still turning over, half-asleep, sluggish mind complaining, vaguely roused by noise and motion, when he's attacked by an armful of squirming little girl. There's no better alarm clock in the world, he thinks, and even if it hurts he can't help but be disappointed when Gracia lifts Elicia off his lap just a few seconds later.

"I'm sorry," she says, but she's smiling so brightly she hardly looks it at all, "I told her to not-"

But he hasn't seen Elicia yet; in all the chaos of the previous night his daughter had somehow been left with a sitter until visiting hours had already ended, and he finds himself hugging the life out of her as best he can. Gracia's nervous for a moment, looking over him like she's afraid he'll break, but then something just gives and she hugs the both of them, so tightly he feels about to snap in half and he loves every second of it.

Elicia doesn't want to be detached from him, and he doesn't really want to let her go, either, and by the way Gracia's still smiling as she helps him to sit up, she understands. She just looks at him for a long moment, eyes swimming, then suddenly kisses him, hard.

It's almost overwhelming; in his wife's arms, his daughter in his, he can feel Gracia crying now, and he sees it when she finally pulls back, but she's still smiling so much he doesn't know what to feel. "I haven't brushed my teeth in months," he mumbles, dazed, and Gracia nearly chokes on a sobbed kind of laugh.

"You taste like medicine," she agrees, and kisses him again.

Elicia stands up clumsily on the bed, getting his glasses herself and pushing them onto his face. He blinks, startled, and his vision finally clears so he can see her smiling, too. "There!" she proclaims, beaming. "You don't look right without them!"

Maes doesn't really feel he looks right _with_ them, either; he's been avoiding looking in a mirror because he can't imagine what he'll find- but neither Gracia or Elicia seems to mind. They're both beaming and crying, and he wipes at his face with a shaking hand, overwhelmed and lost but sure of himself, at least, that this right here is what he wants.

He's so contented with it all that it takes him several moments to realize they've been left alone.

He blinks, turning to stare at the opposite bed in surprise. "Where'd Roy go?"

Gracia smiles fondly, her eyes bright as she shakes her head over at the empty bed. "He left when he heard us come in- wanted to give us some privacy. I tried to tell him it wasn't necessary, but he wouldn't hear of it."

"He just... left?" He rubs his eyes again, trying to wake himself up. "Is that- I mean- is that safe? Should he be off on his own? He's... well..."

To his surprise, Gracia just smiles knowingly again, like the idea of a newly blind man having trouble wandering the hospital on his own was amusing. "He's fine," she says vaguely, moving to sit even closer by his side, molded under his arm and head pressed to his shoulder. "You, meanwhile: stop worrying. All _you_ need to worry about is getting better so you can come home."

He hesitates; wants to still worry- but Gracia sounds so sure of herself he can't help but give in. "Of course," he concedes weakly. "Of course I will," and she kisses him again.

Elicia is bouncing up and down, sitting up on her knees and talking a mile a minute. Her little arms are quickly wrapped around his neck and his head spins; she's _grown._ She's so big- at least an inch taller, and her clothes- _is she in school already?!_ He strokes clumsily through her hair, fingers cold and shaking as he lifts one of the sections of her ponytail and nearly has a heart attack to find it's all the way down her back now- but in his mind it's supposed to be just above her shoulders.

Something of his baffled expression must've shown on his face, because Gracia's next smile is weak with tears and she wraps her hand around his, pulling it gently away from her hair. "You... missed a lot," and her voice is so thick with emotion he can barely understand it at all.

It's a while before the scene changes, though he supposes he should be grateful that it finally does; sitting here with his family in his arms he feels content and full and warm in a way that just wasn't so before now, content enough that he doesn't even mind his eyelids starting to droop shut again. But he doesn't want to fall asleep with Elicia still standing precariously on his hospital bed, and moreover, not with Gracia still so frightened, looking at him like if she blinks he might drift away.

It's when his arms are falling heavy and limp around Elicia when the door suddenly opens again, drawing him out of his half doze with a jerk. In strolls Roy, Hawkeye materialized at his elbow, the colonel smiling cheekily as he strides forwards like there's nothing out of the ordinary at all. "I return bearing gifts!" he proclaims boldly, though at the slightly sour look Hawkeye gives him, Maes has his doubts who really procured these _gifts._

"Coffee for the lady," he says, holding out a cup, "coffee for me," and hugs his own like a security blanket, "and ice cream for the children." Elicia squeals so excitably it hurts his ears, but she only moves away to grab her treat for a millisecond and then she's back in his lap, and Roy smirks. "And water for the hospital patient," he finishes dryly, nodding vaguely over in the direction of the room's water pitcher.

The juggling act was impressive, he has to admit, then snorts when Hawkeye delicately lifts Roy's coffee out of his grip to claim it for her own. "That's water for _both_ the hospital patients, sir," she chides, and Roy's pout is so severe he could make a kitten cry.

Hawkeye gives Gracia a meaningful look, then, and nudges Roy forward, holding out a hand to his daughter. "Come on, Elicia. If you're going to eat ice cream then you need to stand up; you don't want to spill it on General Hughes, do you?"

Elicia pauses for a moment, as if giving the situation serious consideration. Then, stubbornly, she thrust the ice cream back out to her with one hand, gripping onto him tighter with the other. "Don't wanna go anywhere."

Roy laughs. "Don't be silly. Come on, it's just for a minute- I want to go for a walk, and I guess I need a guide dog again. You promised you'd help me not walk into walls, right?" He holds a hand out a little, unwisely offering for Elicia to take it, and Maes frowns.

There are many things for him to comment on, at the moment. _General_ Hughes, since when?, the fact that Roy has evidently decided he can play nice with young children without falling victim to the apocalypse, another since when did that happen?, not to _mention_ this sudden conspiracy to get Elicia away from him, which he's not a fan of in the slightest, and then there's the little problem of Roy offering to lift Elicia off the bed when he's liable to drop her...

Hawkeye, at least, appears to have that last one covered, giving her superior a frown even as she holds her own hand out towards Elicia, looking ready to elbow the colonel out of the way if need be. That does not answer any of his other questions, however.

Elicia gives Roy a look of concern, then sighs, sounding far older than she is. "Okay," she concedes reluctantly, "but... but five minutes! Okay? Then I want to come back!" She gives him a severe frown, then Hawkeye one as well, then him an extra squeeze so tight it almost hurts. "I love you, Daddy," she mumbles against his shirt, and, well, there went his heart.

Hawkeye helps lift her back down to the floor, and Elicia gives another reminder of _just five minutes_ before latching onto Roy's hand, leading him forward. Maes watches the strange entourage leave, thoroughly flummoxed, and continues staring a few seconds after the door shuts before he manages to shake his head in bewilderment. "And what was _that_ all about?" he starts, turning towards Gracia again.

He stops.

"...Gracia..."

Several quiet seconds pass, broken only by the soft hitching of breath and the warm wetness, where her cheek is pressed to his shoulder. She's not looking at him, hazel eyes blinking blindly at the wall opposite... but her arm around him is so tight he thinks she might never let go.

"Go back to sleep, Maes," he hears finally, though it's so weak and unsteady it's barely audible at all, and he swallows the sudden lump in his throat.

"...I'm sorry," he tries to say, "I- Gracia-"

Her hand, so warm it's almost unbearable, slips over his mouth, silencing the words. "Don't apologize," she whispers. "Don't apologize, Maes. Just- oh, Maes. ... _Maes..."_

He does end up going back to sleep, eventually, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

His wife crying on his shoulder follows him there, and he somehow feels her arms around him still, even in dreams.

* * *

The time in the hospital after that becomes a blur, to Maes. Lots of doctors and tests; lots of fading in and out of sleep. Roy never seems to leave, even once he's released, and his family, too, is such a constant presence he's become convinced Elicia isn't going to school and Gracia, to work.

There's not any part of him that has a problem with this.

He doesn't remember most of it, and is glad for it; his body doesn't want to do what he tells it, to the point that he can barely write or sit up or eat or function, and the days in the hospital are spent relearning how to exist as something more than a vegetable. It's a miserable time, the monotony punctuated only by a near constant stream of visitors from the military; Scieska, Alex Louis, Maria Ross, even Ed tore himself away from his brother's side once or twice- he'd have been touched, if he still wasn't so overwhelmed by it all.

When he at last gets to go home, the permission granted when his legs finally decide to carry his own weight again, Gracia is there, smiling ear to ear, and Elicia is so thrilled her hug nearly brings him to the ground. Roy, having seemingly materialized from nowhere again, laughs at him, the bastard, and ends up holding Elicia's hand so his wife can help him to the car without a six year old bowling him over.

He doesn't think he's ever seen Roy so happy, and somehow, the sight of him grinning like a maniac, beaming underneath bandaged eyes- or lack thereof- is one he can barely stomach.

* * *

Despite having spent the past god knew how many months in bed, this is all Maes feels up for when he finally gets back home- but crawling into his _own_ bed, with his _own_ sheets, and his wife immediately following thereafter, is miles better than any hospital bed, and he curls up around one of Gracia's pillows with a contented smile. Elicia wastes no time in joining them, jumping to latch onto his arm and hug it tight; the sight squeezes his heart.

The family sleepover becomes, apparently, mandatory, when Gracia can not dislodge Elicia despite it being well past her bedtime.

Not that she tries very hard to do it.

* * *

As tired as Maes still is, and as much time as he spends asleep, it takes him three days at home to realize Roy is more than a very frequent visitor.

It keys in to his brain when Roy wonders past him while he's eating breakfast, feeling his way along the wall and by smell to the coffee. Roy's been such a common sight nowadays he doesn't think twice- then, starts and stares, when he realizes it's not even eight yet, and his best friend is pajama-clad and barefoot.

"Did you even go _home_ last night?"

Roy jumps, stumbling around to tilt his head vacantly in his direction. "Oh, it's you... I thought you were still asleep." He rubs the bandages around his head irritably, scratching at them like they were just a nuisance or a bother, then returns his attention to coffee. "You should breathe louder. Then maybe I wouldn't mistake you for your wife."

Maes frowns. "Yeah... yeah, I'll just get right on that one, Roy. Now answer my question- you slept here, didn't you?"

Once again, Roy looks mildly confused as he turns back to face him, now cradling his mug in both hands- hands marked and thick with old scarring- scarring that he doesn't remember. "I thought you knew," he said quietly. "Didn't Gracia tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Ahh... your wife has insisted that I occupy your guest bedroom, for the time being." He smiles thinly, gives another gesture towards his face. "Just until these come off. I tried to say I'd be fine at my own place, but- well, you know how that woman gets..."

And then Roy's smiling again, but Maes has to look away. His stomach lurches at the thought of what was- or, perhaps, more accurately, what _wasn't_ \- hiding underneath the gauze. He looks down at his plate, abruptly without an appetite.

He can not understand how he seems to be the only one who cares that his best friend is now blind.

"I'm sorry," Roy says suddenly, uncharacteristically soft, and Maes looks up to see Roy gingerly feeling his way towards the seat across from him, features unsure and apologetic. "I didn't realize it bothered you so much. I..." He makes a frustrated face, then finally succeeds in grappling for the chair and drops down into it, now pawing across the table as if in search for his hand. More an afterthought than anything else, Maes gives it to him.

"Maes, Gracia's just- I'd really be fine on my own. She worries, but I don't need to stay here if you're not... okay with it. I can leave. I- I'm sorry... I should've asked you first-"

"Idiot," Maes sighs, and one hand's already habitually rising to cuff him fondly on the head before he balks again at the sight of bandages. He swallows, hard. "When did I say I wanted you to leave?"

Roy hesitates again. He looks unsure still, as if there weren't a hundred different reasons why Maes could never turn him out now, and he sighs again, pushing up at his glasses as if that might make this any easier to understand. "I was just surprised to find out I've had a houseguest without knowing about it," he says lightly, but still, all he can think is just that he doesn't want Roy to go.

But Roy pauses another time, fidgeting with his coffee mug and suddenly shifting uncomfortably, looking about like he's imposing and suddenly not sure about staying. Maes glares, though he knows the effect is lost on his friend. "Let me give it to you this way, you idiot alchemist. After what- you did, I'm pretty sure you have the right to anything in my life that you want. If you wanted the deed to my house I'd probably have to give it to you," he jokes. "Equivalent exchange, right?"

It is a joke, but in words only. The sentiment underneath is real, and so pained Maes doesn't think he can ever give voice to it. Roy gave up his career for him. Nearly a decade's worth of effort climbing for Fuhrer- gone. He gave up the alchemy he'd given nearly his whole life to; what use was a man who could make bombs if he couldn't aim them? He gave up his independence. He can't even go outside anymore without having half his face covered.

It has nothing to do with the alchemist's tradition.

Maes just knows he can never, _ever_ do anything to earn the sacrifices Roy had made for him- and that pains him more than there are words to express.

Roy stands.

He's so wrapped up in self-loathing he doesn't realize his friend's intent, not until he says, calmly, _"Maes,"_ and his voice is so heavy with anguish his heart skips a beat, and his gaze is wrenched up.

Roy's staring- not staring?- a foot or two to the left of him, but his pale face is so etched with cold, unyielding determination and an old sort of pain, Maes can almost feel that nonexistent gaze piercing him straight through. His best friend moves another step back, but never turns away from him, and for the first time since waking up Maes finally sees some real sign, in Roy, of what these past five months have cost him.

He swallows hard again, hands shaking, and does not answer him.

"The only thing I am ever going to ask for in return for what I did is this. I did what I did because I wanted to. That's it. I have no expectation or desire for anything in return. All I want you to do, Maes, is live. Live your life, and be happy. That's all."

Without another word, Roy turns his back, and leaves.

Maes, disheartened, stomach still faintly twisted with nauseating guilt, watches him feel his way out along the walls, then just shuts his eyes and presses his face into his hand.

* * *

Gracia clings.

That's the only word for it.

Maes Hughes will be the first to admit that that's actually a fault of his; he can be clingy, and he still vividly remembers his high school sweetheart running for the hills after barely a month, saying he was suffocating her. It really is his luck that he's found people to share his life with that don't seem to mind, but Gracia is now outdoing him even at his worst.

Not that he minds.

Many days, he spends weak and ill; those days Gracia spends in bed with him, and when she falls asleep it's only on an arm or his shoulder. He often half-wakes in the middle of the night to find her pulling him closer still, not any sleepy barely aware cuddle but with a raw sort of desperation he often can't bear to think about. She's there to drive him to doctor's appointments, is sitting on their couch holding his hand and brazenly ignoring the uncomfortable looks during the half-hearted interviews with generals who don't actually _want_ to know he was shot by a homunculus, but need to go through the motions of an investigation anyway. No matter what it is, she's always there... and the look she gives him on those rare occasions she has to leave is like being punched through the stomach with a bowling ball of guilt.

She has to help him bathe; he can't stand long enough for a shower, and it's hard for him to wash the area around the wound. It's some measure between awkward and embarrassing that he doesn't have words for- but Gracia, he can see, feels even worse about it than he does.

She tries very hard not to look at him. Not the lingering shadows of malnutrition and wasted muscles from five months sedentary, and especially not the new webbed network of scars, spreading out from where that bullet had lodged just one millimeter from his heart. He knows it's not out of pity or revulsion... but still, it's hard to take.

Gracia does look accidentally, once.

He knows it's an accident, because her eyes are canted downwards, staring to her knees when the soap slips out of her wet hands. She jumps reflexively, reaching out for it, laughing- god, he hasn't heard the sound in months, and at the moment he swears it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard- and her head goes up on instinct and-

There. Face full of ugly, new scars.

Her face falls.

For several moments, it's just that. Just Gracia, frozen, staring at his heart, and the look on her face is anguish. There is simply no other word for it. She stares, stares so long Maes' face flushes and his stomach twists, and he's driven to bitterly look away, swallowing the lump in his throat to reach for a towel- his shirt- anything to cover it with-

And then Gracia's touching it, with one shaking hand.

First her thumb, then her forefinger traces the deepest, most gnarled red line, the one that curls straight over his heart. The sensation tingles, the skin sore and numb all at once, and Maes swallows again. He looks away, trying not to think or feel it. It was a miracle he'd lived. It was a miracle he hadn't died on the spot.

"...Gracia." His voice is thick, and somehow even more so when he swallows, trying to quiet the pain and regret. "You don't have to... it's all right."

The words crack, belying the lie, and Maes then just lets his voice fade into silence.

His wife, fingers shaking against his chest, lets her arms then drift to wrap around him, and she presses her cheek just over his heart. Her head's tucked under his chin now, water dripping slowly from his face to her hair, and he can see the moisture darkening her shirt as well, but all Gracia does in response to being soaked is tighten her arms around him, a single hitched breath felt just against his heart.

She's holding him like she's terrified that if she lets go for a single second, he'll disappear.

The pressure makes the scars hurt.

"...I love you," he whispers, because, in the end, that's all there is to say.

* * *

Roy doesn't cling, because Roy Mustang doesn't cling.

He still finds some way to almost always be in the same room as him- and once again, Maes finds he doesn't have a problem with this.

At first, when Maes still spends most of his time in bed, Roy's in there, too, just sitting there quietly and watching him. It quickly becomes apparent that it's not just that Roy doesn't want to be alone, and he's not just catching up for lost time, either; there's some desperate quality to his presence that he recognizes from the way Gracia holds him now, an anxious sort of need to be near him that is almost uncomfortable in its anguish.

He's never seen Roy like this before, and tries very hard not to think too much about how bad these five months must have been for them all.

They talk, about anything and everything; Roy fills him in on everything that he's missed, which, by god, is a _lot._ He finds out about the Promised Day, both the official story the government is going with and the real one about Bradley and the homunculi. He finds out why Roy has adapted to being blind so quickly, why Ed's automail arm is gone, how it is that Al's now been restored. When he starts to feel well enough to drag himself out to the couch, the stories turn to the bloodier, more gruesome ones, the travesties that occurred in the tunnels under Central that day, and his head still spins to try and grasp it all. Five months. His family has been through hell- and the world with them, it seems- for so long, yet to him it feels he was gone barely a day. He simply can't grasp it.

During one such conversation, listening to Roy hesitantly describe how close they'd come to losing the battle and the day, Maes groans and leans over, rubbing a hand across his face. "God, I'm so sorry, Roy," he mutters forlornly. "If I'd just managed to get you on the line faster that day, I could've told you- said _something_ to clue you in to what was going on- maybe things would've gone better for you. Maybe so many of you wouldn't have been hurt, maybe I could've helped..."

Roy laughs at him.

He _laughs._

"Maes," he murmurs pointedly. "You know how you're always telling me to ditch the hero complex?"

"...Yeah?"

"Ditch the hero complex."

* * *

When the morning comes that Hawkeye appears to drive Roy to the hospital so his bandages can be removed, Maes immediately begs off accompanying him, citing another bout of illness and weakness.

Hawkeye knows, because she is Hawkeye, and knows _everything._ He thinks Gracia and Roy know too, Roy because of the look on his face when he'd left, and Gracia, because, some minutes after Roy has gone, she interrupts post-breakfast cuddling (a newfound tradition) with a sudden, "The only person who blames you, Maes, for Roy's situation, is _you._ " She wraps her arms more firmly around him, pressing her face to his neck. "You don't get to feel guilty over something that someone else did."

He'd like to say it helps. The truth is that it doesn't.

* * *

Roy calls it stylish.

Hawkeye calls it functional.

Ed calls it girly.

Havoc calls it a sex blindfold.

Gracia throws Havoc out, after this leads to Elicia asking them all what a sex blindfold was.

Maes doesn't know what to call it, really.

It's a black, silk strip of cloth, proportions so accurate his best friend probably alchemized it himself. It's wrapped snugly around his head, hiding whatever scars there might be from view, and- well, it's not possible to cover one's eyes in a way that looks _natural,_ but this might be the closest thing there could be to it. He looks like a man whose been blindfolded for some surprise prank by his friends or some other such nonsense, not like he's been permanently handicapped and scarred for life. Maes thinks he might actually be able to walk down the street now without attracting so many horrified stares it's as if he's a walking apocalypse.

He's intensely grateful, and doesn't ponder whether or not it's just because he'd been dreading looking at the scars.

Roy's staff have appeared, quite literally; he swears some of them just sprung up out of the ground, drawn by what somehow has become an impromptu, celebratory party in his living room. They claim it's all for Roy- him and his sex blindfold, Havoc says, who has since snuck back inside and gets pushed out again for his efforts- but Maes knows it's a bold-faced lie. Roy is the center of things, sure, just because that's who he is, but by the way everyone eventually seems to gravitate to him, he knows it's partly to celebrate his own recovery.

Once again, he thinks as Scieska throws her arms around him, hugging tight enough to snap him in half, he's not sure whether to be touched or embarrassed.

Ed and Al Elric make an appearance. The others have all seen Al before, but it's Maes' first time- he actually hears Ed first, loudly declaring Gracia to be the only god in this godless world for her homemade cookies, and while he's threading his way back over towards the voice to greet the tiny alchemist he runs into someone new. His first instinct is confusion, but then, he takes in everything that's familiar-but-not about him, so much like Ed but softer somehow-

It hits him in the same moment Al's eyes brighten, and then his whole face with them. "Mr. Hughes!" he cries, and beams.

Ed barges over not half a second later, pinwheeling about to try and stop the small crowd that hadn't been crushing Al from crushing him, and Maes can't help but laugh at the look on the younger brother's face; some sort of cross between adoring and irritation. Al tolerates the coddling for a few seconds, then not so subtly pipes up. "Brother, I'll sit and rest, promise, so why don't you go back over and talk with Mrs. Hughes? It's been so long since we've seen her, and we're leaving for home soon..."

"But- but Al, you-"

"Brother." Al smiles again, and there is something _evil_ in that smile. "That's fifty-six."

Ed's eyes widen, and for a moment, the former alchemist looks like he's about to have a heart attack.

Ed gives Al a look, then Maes a look, then Al a look again, then gulps and begins to backpedal. "But I'll be back in ten minutes!" he swears, and Al softens just like that, smile adoring all over again as he waves to his retreating brother.

"Fifty-six?" Maes stammers, bewildered, and Al turns his smile on him, sheepish now.

"Yeah. I told him I'm going to start tallying it up every time he coddles me; each offense is another stray cat I'll adopt." He flushes, eyes darting back over towards his brother as if to make sure he was keeping his word. "We're at fifty-six now. He thinks I'm joking, but I'm actually pretty serious. It's payback, for all those poor homeless kittens he's made me ignore until now. I think I'll be able to work him up to a hundred before we get to Risembool!" His smile deepens, and he claps his hand together with such excitement it's impossible not to smile back.

"It's great to finally see you, Al," Maes says sincerely, and grins.

* * *

They end up spending most of the rest of the night together, two healing cripples quietly sitting back while the Ed and Roy soak up all the attention like a pair of sponges. Maes feels a little bad, monopolizing Al like this; it'll probably be months before any of them see him again, but he can tell Al's missed him, and neither one of them really have enough energy to survive the military crowd that's invaded his home, anyway.

At some point during the night, after some of the excitement's finally died down and he and Al are just watching quietly as Ed and Roy bicker. Roy reaches out blindly, fumbling for what's left of his wife's cookies- which is to say, nothing but crumbs. He pats the empty plate for several seconds, plainly confused, then starts patting the table instead, as if he might find some there instead.

Ed outright laughs at him.

Maes' shoulders slump, and he stares hard at his feet, fists clenching.

"We've got our hands full with them, don't we, Mr. Hughes?"

He swallows tightly, sending a morose glance in Al's direction. There's something he finds there, though- something understanding- and he remembers at last that he's not the only one sitting here only at the cost of a sacrifice made by someone dear to him. He swallows again, tasting something bitter. "I suppose we do," he says back softly, and looks back to his best friend.

"Have you talked to him about it, Mr. Hughes?"

Maes shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. "About what?" he asks, though he knows full well.

Al smiles gently again, and he gestures back over to where Roy is now trying to make some sort of point about Ed's height. "I wanted to be mad at him," he starts, and it takes a second for him to realize they're not talking about Roy. "I really did. I tried, but- he was so... so _happy_ that I couldn't. I don't think I've ever seen my brother that happy, Mr. Hughes. I think I could've screamed myself hoarse at him for giving up his alchemy for me and he wouldn't have even quit smiling." Al grins himself, shaking his head a little, and Maes thinks it amazing that the devotion he'd seen on Ed's face so many times is now mirrored so perfectly in his younger brother's. "It sounds crazy... there we were, just at the end of the world, he's covered in blood, I'm barely alive, there's people hurt and dying all around us, we don't even know how many of our friends are still _alive_ but- he was just- he was happy. He was the happiest I have ever seen him."

Maes' heart clenches, for reasons Al could never guess, and he looks down again, swallowing tightly. He shuts his eyes for a moment, a shiver racing down his spine, and struggles not to let Al see how familiar such a description really is to him.

He still remembers waking up in a hospital bed, exhausted, lost, and in pain. He hadn't known anything that was going on- but there's Roy, right across from him, clutching him so tightly it's as if he's a lifeline and Roy is drowning, and...

And smiling at him.

Smiling ear to ear, while blood weeps down his face from the ruined, gaping holes from what were supposed to be eyes.

Maes had screamed so loudly he'd woken half the floor.

"I asked Brother later," Al cuts in quietly, "if he regretted anything at all. I told him he had to be honest. ...He said that he did."

Startled out of his memories, Maes looks up, eyes wide- but it's only to see Al looking over at his brother again, wistful and grateful and loving and content. "He said that his one regret was not figuring out that he could've just given up his alchemy three years ago."

Across the room, Ed- Ed, not even an adult and yet his life's passion eradicated, arm still scarred and leg still metal- sticks his tongue out at Roy. Loudly, audibly, so the man knows he's doing it. Roy responds by clapping his hands together with one of the smuggest looks Maes has ever seen, and a collection of flowers bursts to life out of nowhere. Elicia squeals with delight.

"Least _I_ can still give my woman flowers, Fullmetal," he crows, then holds one up blindly, beaming. "Riza? Do me the honors of allowing me to show this _child_ how a real man handles a woman?"

"Not on your life, sir."

Roy gapes and clutches at his heart, crestfallen and defeated, while Ed cries out, _"Critical hit!"_ and throws his arms skyward in celebration.

For the first time, Maes finds himself not looking at Roy's eyes, but at the aura of contentment that surrounds him.

At last, with a heavy sigh, he turns back to Al, attempting a smile of his own. "Sounds like Ed," he says quietly, and finds he doesn't even have to wonder what Roy's answer would be, if he asked him that same question about regrets.

Al beams, but it's short lived as he, too, glances back over to his brother, then down at his own hands. "I won't lie," he murmurs, biting his lip. "Some days I can't even look at him without only seeing what he lost, what he sacrificed for me. And then it's worse because I know he does _miss_ it, even if he doesn't regret it, and some days I can't imagine why he ever thought I'd be worth it, but... I think all I can really do is just make sure not to waste what he did for me, and be happy too."

...

Maes Hughes is being subtly schooled by a kid barely even half his age.

He wonders if Gracia could have possibly had a hand in setting this up, or if Al is just really this perceptive and brilliant, and quickly concludes it's most likely a little bit of both.

Al knows he's made his point, and he's smiling again as he stands up, looking just as contended as his brother. "Speaking of which, I think I'm going to go be a little more social. It's been nice seeing you again- and I'm so glad you're doing better, sir!"

And with that, he leaves, drifting back over towards where his brother has turned bright red at the mention of his mechanic's name, and Elicia has crawled into Roy's lap, sleepy-eyed and yawning but giggling nonetheless at whatever story the man is quietly telling her by her ear.

Maes closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and follows him.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed and Al leave shortly after for Risembool, Al still hobbling on a cane and Ed still the most protective older brother the world has ever seen. Ed tries to keep the date of their leaving a secret; doesn't want a big fanfare party at the station to see them off. Maes, with his natural investigative skills ( _nosiness,_ Roy had laughed, _the proper term is nosiness)_ , had easily found out the day anyway; Gracia had frowned at him for it, insisted he let the boys have their privacy, and limit himself to ordering them to call, once they'd settled into Risembool.

When they finally do, about a week after they had left, Al talks so fast and is so excited about everything Maes can barely catch it all. The stories he has don't make much sense; he doesn't tell them anything he and Ed have done or who they've talked to, but instead just how everything _feels-_ every overwhelming sensation, every exhilarating sense, every amazing feeling; each one, he swears is more beautiful than the last. He tells them how soft the grass is, how warm the wind is, how strong Winry's hugs are, waxes eloquent over each and every last flavor in the grandmother's stew.

Ed pretends to be exasperated with his brother.

He fools absolutely no one.

Al's in the middle of describing the first kitten he plans to adopt- ( _but Al, we only just got-) (YOU PROMISED, BROTHER)-_ when there's a loud _thump!_ from their living room, followed by a deep grunt and a muffled, high-pitched gasp. Both he and Gracia immediately look up in concern while Al keeps on talking, the sounds evidently not carrying over the line. He glances at Gracia, then shakes his head.

Maes slowly works himself to his feet, gesturing for her to stay back while he does so. If Roy's fallen again, and it sounds like he has, he'll probably be embarrassed over it and prefer that Maes be the one to see him like this rather than his wife. He wants to chide Roy for being stubborn, but the truth is, he knows he's the same way; sometimes it's easier for him to let Roy see him at his most vulnerable rather than show such weakness to her. He sighs to himself as he makes his way towards the sounds, already preparing for the task of coaxing a Roy Mustang with a bruised ego to cheer up.

The sight waiting for him, however, gives him pause.

Roy is sitting on the floor, awkwardly, rubbing his ankle with one hand while the other's busy tugging a disheveled blindfold back into place. Elicia is a way's back, hands over her mouth as she stares, eyes wide guilt-stricken.

On the floor, looking to be around where Roy had tripped and showing all the signs of being stepped on, is one of Elicia's toy trucks.

"-sorry," Elicia is whispering into her hands, "Uncle Roy, I'm so sorry-"

"Elicia," Roy grunts. He sounds irritated, but not angry. He turns, trying to look in her direction, and holds a hand out. "Elicia, can you come over here?"

Elicia bites her lip harder but stumbles over to him, reaching for his arm the moment she can and hugging it close. "I'm sorry," she whispers again, voice tiny, and Roy slips his hand around to pat her on the top of her head.

"I know you are. I'm all right, I am. Don't worry. But-" he looks blindly around the room, waving a hand. "Can you tell me how many others of your toys are on the floor right now?"

Elicia freezes. Her eyes go even bigger, and she bites her lip harder again.

Roy seems to feel her tense up and smiles at her again, letting her continue to hang on to his arm. "I'm not mad, Elicia. I'm okay, and I'm not mad at you, I promise."

Elicia stares at him, and somehow the assurance makes her looks even sadder than before as she nervously lets her eyes move around the room, silently mouthing the numbers as she counts up. "...S-six," she says faintly, and in that moment she looks like the most miserable girl in the world.

Maes winces.

Gracia's been trying to keep reminding Elicia that her godfather and honorary uncle can't see anymore, and so it's important she keep her things cleaned up so he doesn't step or trip on them- and Elicia _does_ try, she does. But Roy had already been so good at navigating on his own when he'd moved in to their guest bedroom, and has only gotten better with time- most of the initial bumping into walls and needing to be guided around had been before Maes had even gotten home from the hospital. It must've been hard for Elicia to actively remember she couldn't leave any of her things just lying about anymore- and she clearly feels so _bad_ about it...

Roy's clearly not angry with her, though, at least, but Maes is still deciding what to do when his best friend gives his daughter a swift, one-armed hug, then reaches down to his pocket. He fiddles for a moment, then withdraws one of his spare blindfolds, and holds it out to her. "Elicia? Can you put this on, just for a minute?"

She hesitates again. He can't be sure, from over here, but he thinks she grips Roy's hand even tighter.

"Just for a minute," Roy repeats, even softer now.

Elicia's hands are shaking as she touches the silk blindfold, and she looks even more nervous than before as she slowly lifts it up to her eyes.

It doesn't really fit, but she's able to hold it there with one hand while she tugs on Roy's arm again with the other, clearly reluctant and thinking she's about to be punished. Roy pats her on the back, then worms out of her grip so she's standing alone, one little hand pressing the blindfold to her face and suddenly unsure of herself; frightened.

"Try and walk over to the table."

Elicia frowns. Her brow creases as she turns first one direction, then another, then finally settles uncertainly on a path that'll take her- well, _near_ the table, at least. She shuffles a tiny footstep forward, then another, then hesitantly lifts up her foot to take a real step.

Her shoulder nudges against the edge of the couch and she jumps back, startled, clearly not expecting it. She whirls around, stumbles, whirls around again- then freezes on the spot and just _whimpers._

Roy's next to her again almost instantly, moving faster than even Maes had started to, somehow. He lifts her up into his lap and slips the blindfold off, shoving it back into his pocket while Elicia blinks and rubs her eyes, looking around in bewilderment. "I know you don't mean to leave things in my way," Roy says gently, "but do you see how hard it can be just to walk around the room like that? How much harder it is when I have to worry about stuff being on the floor?"

Elicia sniffs, scrubbing at her eyes. She looks absolutely miserable again, not frightened because of the blindfold but so guilty she wants to cry, and all Maes wants to do is pick her up and give her the biggest, tightest, warmest hug he can. "Y... yes..." she stammers, voice tiny and sad, and Roy's face falls.

He gives her another one-armed hug, and clearly doesn't need his eyes to know he's about to have a sobbing six year old latched onto his side if he doesn't do something. "I'm sorry I made you put that on, Elicia," he says gently, still holding her, "but that's the third time I've tripped over something of yours. I'm gonna crack my head open one day, then what'll happen?"

Elicia stares at him wildly, and Roy realizes his mistake a second too late, easygoing grin slipping into a horrified pseudo-stare. "Oh- oh, I- no, that was a joke, please don't cry- I was trying to make you laugh, I didn't- oh, god, _please_ don't tell your father, really, he'll kill me- really, I'm fine, I'm fine, don't cry, see?" His sudden grin is one of sheer _panic._ "See, look, I'm fine- really-"

"Daddy wouldn't kill you, silly," Elicia laughs weakly. She still upset, but is smiling herself now, too, and quickly she crawls off his lap so she can more easily hug him. "He _likes_ you."

Roy stiffens at the sudden six year old pressed against his side, then finally relaxes, when he seems to understand he's not going to have to call for Maes' help then subsequently run for his life. "For reasons I can not imagine," he murmurs, giving her a gentle squeeze back.

There's a moment of quiet. Elicia worms a little closer, her smile falling again into a caricature of upset. "...I'm sorry," she murmurs once more, voice small.

Roy sighs. "It's okay, kid. Just try not to do it again, all right?"

Hesitantly, Elicia looks up at him, still huddled close to his side. "Why don't you just use your cane? You do outside." She pouts. "It's so you don't run into stuff, isn't it?"

"Well... yes. It is. But..." Roy's face falls into a grimace of his own, and he releases a quiet, pained sort of sigh. "I like feeling normal, I suppose. It's nice to be able to walk around outside, but it's even nicer to be able to do it here without needing help."

"Oh." Elicia looks down at her lap again, fingers winding anxiously together. "Sorry."

"If I say I forgive you, will you stop apologizing?"

"...I..."

Roy laughs fondly, giving her another squeeze. "I forgive you."

Sensing an end to this conversation- an end which means Elicia turning around, and pointing out to Roy he's had a witness to this this whole time, Maes finally shakes himself and walks into the room, startling the both of them. He pretends to have heard nothing, grinning down at the pair as he announces, "Elicia, Ed and Al are on the phone in the kitchen. They want to say hello!"

And just like that, the incident is forgotten, and Elicia brightens like a light. "Big Big Brother Al and Little Big Brother Ed!" she cries, and then is gone, dashing off to the kitchen as excited as he's ever seen her.

Maes chuckles as he looks down at Roy, shaking his head a little as he's glad the man can't read his expression now, because he still can't decide whether he's stunned or proud. "Big Big Brother wants to say hello to you as well," he says, nudging him with his foot. "Little Big Brother wants to yell at you."

"Oh, I'm _sure,"_ Roy drawls, but he's grinning. He works himself up to his feet, slowly beginning to orient himself towards the voices before Maes just puts a hand on his back, pushing him ahead.

Just before they make it to join the others, he leans closer to his ear and murmurs, "Thought you said you weren't good with children- you little _liar."_

Then, before Roy's given the chance to do anything more than gape at him, he pushes the man down into a chair next to Gracia to trap him in Al's continuing story of adopted kittens.

* * *

He fails his physical.

With flying colors, actually.

He'd not expected to pass it just yet, everyone telling him he'd have to take more time; he hadn't expected to fail it quite so badly, either. It's mildly ironic that his only perfect score is the vision test, the one test Roy could no longer pass, and the one was enough to bar his return. He barely passes firearms proficiency, so out of practice his bullets seem to find any way they can to miss their target, and the fact that he has to fight not to jump with every sharp crack of a gunshot doesn't help matters. He's pretty sure ten push-ups is a record for worst performance on a military physical _ever._ He decides not to mention the even lower count for sit-ups to Gracia.

It's when his attempt to run the six minute mile ends up with him on his knees, clutching at his heart, a visceral scream clawing out his throat that he finally realizes something is wrong with him that just more exercise is not going to fix.

He'd nearly had a heart attack, they tell him, and he ends up relegated to the infirmary for a night while they try to figure out why someone about thirty years too young for a heart attack nearly keeled over with one. They find that Envy's bullet has left behind more than just the scars on the outside. They're there on the inside, too, a spiderweb of scar tissue wrapped around the side of his heart, like fingers around a throat, and even the little exertion of the physical tests had nearly been enough to kill him.

He doesn't just fail the physical- he gets the stamp for a medical discharge, and an early retirement.

When Gracia finds out, she tries very hard to be comforting. She freezes for just a second, eyes wide, but then her face falls and she wraps her arms around him and says all the appropriate things. How sorry she is, that it's not fair, that she can't believe they'd do this to him- but he can tell her heart's not in it.

She's relieved.

She'd been terrified when he'd told her he was going in for tests to be returned to duty, and is relieved now that he never will be.

Maes doesn't know quite yet; it's still too soon for him to be sure of that- but he thinks, all things considered, he is all right with this.

After everything Gracia and Elicia have gone through, it wouldn't be fair to ask them to do it all over again, and that was just the reality of things; if he'd gone back, he could get shot all over again and this time there would be no convenient, willing best friend standing by ready to commit alchemical taboo to reverse it. That would be it. It would be over.

He could never do that to them.

They've suffered enough.

He'd loved his job, but now that Roy no longer needs him there and there's no ring of corruption so deep it's about to bring the whole country down, it's simply that, a job. There would always be other ones- other ones that wouldn't terrify his family, or put them at risk of going through hell all over again.

"How could they just- just _discharge_ you..." Gracia is saying weakly against his shoulder, voice fiery but eyes wet, "Maes, I'm so sorry, I know you really-"

"Gracia," he interrupts, and his scarred heart contracts as she tries to comfort him, no matter how terrified she'd been and relieved she was she was still trying to hide it- for him. She is an _angel,_ and he has never done anything good enough to deserve her. "Gracia, it's all right."

She looks at him questioningly, all different kinds of miserable as she tries to keep the relief from pressing into her eyes; he smiles in return, and returns her hug with twice the force. "My biggest regret is that now I've got to find a new group of people to show Elicia off to," he announces, and he makes sure to do so with his biggest, cheesiest grin, so she knows it's the truth.

She stares at him for several moment, searching and unsure... then finally just gives in and hugs him back.

* * *

They ship him a new uniform for his new rank, which Maes finds rather ridiculous; he's only going to wear it for one day, when he goes in to sign off on his retirement. He doesn't like the look of it, either- too many stars and medals to look familiar, and they'd obviously based it off his old measurements because it doesn't fit. He'd seen Roy in the general's uniform, the day he'd gone in to sign off on his own discharge- on _him,_ every star and stripe had looked natural, like it had been made just for him and he'd been born to lead... which had made it all the more difficult for Maes to accept that Roy had given it all up for him.

It doesn't look natural on him. It looks like someone else's uniform, someone's that he's stolen and tried to make fit and couldn't... perhaps some part of him that had died the day Envy had shot him.

Whatever it was, he finds himself even more glad than before that this will be the last time he'll have to wear it.

With a sigh, Maes squares his shoulders and walks out of his bedroom. He kisses Gracia and promises to come back as soon as he can; she straightens the collar and tugs at the buttons like it's his first day of school but smiles at him like she's never been more relieved in her life, and he kisses her again before taking another step towards the door.

Elicia looks up from her toys.

Her eyes widen at him. Her lower lip wobbles.

And then, with absolutely no warning...

She bursts into tears.

It's not quiet sniffling; it's a loud, agonizing wailing, deep sobs as she just stares up at him and cries. Tears are streaming down her face and he's down next to her in a second, holding her in his arms and desperately trying to calm her down, but she's only crying harder now. Her little hands grab his arm, squeezing tight, and she buries her face in his side, crying and sniffling and whimpering into the new uniform.

"El- Elicia!" he chokes, panicked and terrified. "Elicia, are you okay ?! What happened?! What's wrong?!"

Gracia drops down beside them, and she looks just as terrified as him as she reaches out, wrapping an arm around both their daughter and him. "Elicia! You-" but her words are cut off by another wail, muffled as she cries it into his side but by no means inaudible.

He stares at Gracia, then down at Elicia, his heart contracting every time she cries out and there's nothing he can do to help.

Elicia is holding onto him so tightly now he wouldn't have been able to dislodge her if he'd ever had the heart to try. Gracia's stroking her hair while subtly lifting her dress, searching around to find if she'd fallen and hurt herself, but something tells Maes this isn't any bruise or cut they can just put a bandaid over and call it done. She doesn't stop crying, and finally, he just hoists her into his lap, pulling them both closer, and is given no choice but to wait this out.

Roy appears, hurriedly stumbling over with a look of panic on his face. He arrives just in time to hear Gracia say, "Whatever it is, it'll be okay, it'll be okay," and the panicked confusion fades- but he can tell Roy has no more idea what's going on then they do.

He doesn't intrude on the family hug, but he does quietly sink to the floor to sit across from them, joining their silent vigil that's all they can do for the distraught six year old sobbing in his lap.

Finally, Elicia quiets a little, tears still streaming down her face but no longer crying just as hard. Gracia leans a little closer at that, concerned eyes only for her. "Baby," she says quietly, "you have to talk to us- we can't help if we don't know what's wrong."

But Elicia makes no attempts to tell them, sniffling and hiccuping and shaking her head against hist stomach. He exchanges a helpless glance with Gracia, growing more and more worried by the minute.

"Elicia?" Roy asks softly. "Are you upset because you don't want your father to go back to work?"

Elicia hiccups again, little fingers gripping the wool of his uniform to twist it into her tiny fists. Her pigtails sway as she presses her head even tighter against him... so close that he feels it more than he sees is, when she nods once.

Gracia gasps. Maes' heart skips a beat, and his eyes widen as he looks from his best friend to his wife to his daughter in what is finally anguished understanding.

Oh.

"You can't go back... you can't, you c- _can't,"_ she moans, like she hadn't had the words for the feeling until Roy had said them first but now she can't stop. "Please! Please, Daddy! Please don't go back... _please..._ Daddy-!"

She buries her head in his side and then just wails even louder.

His heart cracks.

Elicia has no idea that he's going to HQ only to officially resign. All she knows is that he's in uniform, promising Gracia he'll be back soon, and is about to walk out the door.

The last time he'd done that, he hadn't come back.

God, he's quitting. He's quitting, he's quitting, he's quitting, he's giving up his commission and never going near the military again. After everything he's put his family through how could he ever have even considered doing anything else?! He's never stepping near the military or HQ or guns or _anything_ dangerous ever again. He could he have ever even thought for one second it would be fair to either of them to go back? How could he have missed that _this_ was why Elicia was upset? He's such an idiot- he's the worst father in the world, his blind best friend knows his family better than him-

It's devastatingly obvious, in retrospect, even though it's a bit too late for him to do anything but hold Elicia tighter until she calms down. She's shown little signs of separation anxiety before now, but nothing like this. Some nights still she'll crawl into bed with them, half past three or four in the morning but face wet with tears and voice tiny as she mumbles something about a nightmare. Those nights, she'll cling to him even more than Gracia. Then there are the days where she hasn't wanted to even go to school, jumping onto his lap and tearfully begging to stay home with him.

So far, they've mostly been ignoring it, treating it as just Elicia readjusting and letting her stay home or sleep with them when she needed to.

Now, with his daughter sobbing his arms at just the thought of him going into work, he realizes that was a very dumb mistake to make.

"...Elicia?" he asks quietly, and though his voice shakes and nearly breaks, his hand is steady as he rests it on her back. "Would you feel better if you came to work with me?"

Elicia quiets down, though she's still trembling with the force of the soft sobs against his stomach. Slowly, she lifts her head up to look at him, cheeks flushed, eyes red and sore, face wet and terrified. She blinks several times, considering this, then wipes off one cheek on his jacket, lip still trembling and tears still overflowing.

Finally, she nods, then promptly buries her face back against him and sniffs again.

That cracking sound? Yeah, that was his heart.

* * *

Maes thinks that this is probably the first official military meeting to have ever been attended by a six year old, and also likely the last, but Fuhrer Grumman does not seem to mind Elicia sitting on his knee, arms folded, and frowning up at him like he's a threat. In fact, he seems to find it endearing, and spends most of the meeting beaming at her and proclaiming that Riza needs to hurry up and give him one of those already- and hopefully with a certain distinguished former general (which is an awkward moment for Maes to say the least).

When Maes is signing off on one of the last forms, the Fuhrer sighs, leaning back in his chair with a remorseful look. "First my two top State Alchemists," he begins, counting off on his fingers, "then my granddaughter- and now my best investigator, too? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you all wanted this regime to fail. What happened to my soldiers serving me until the end?"

Maes grins, knowing Grumman doesn't even mind anyway since he now gets to promote officers of his choosing instead of taking Bradley's leftovers. "Not fail, sir. Just... with a touch more democracy, or two."

"Not your soldier," Elicia interrupts suddenly, hugging his arm tighter. She frowns up at Grumman again, a frown that persists even when the two look down at her in surprise. "Not _your_ soldier. _My_ Daddy." She hugs his arm again, possessive, and- protective.

Protective.

A six year old girl, protecting a thirty year old man arm to teeth with knives, from the most powerful soldier in the country.

Once again, he loves his daughter even more than he's ever thought possible.

She is _amazing._

"Can I keep her?" Grumman asks, beaming with delight, and Elicia, hugging him tighter, huffs.

* * *

There's more celebrations that night, although this time it's quieter, just him, his family, and Roy; he'll get around to telling his former subordinates it's official tomorrow. Elicia's still quietly upset, he can tell, chair scooted close to his and barely touching her dinner; every nervous, tremulous glance over in his direction makes his heart break a little more. He gets more and more assured about his decision to quit every minute. The military doesn't need him; his family, however, does, and in this moment, he can't even _think_ of doing anything except staying with them until Elicia can understand he's never leaving them again.

Finally, when it's gotten late, Gracia announces that it's time for six year olds with school in the morning to go to bed. Elicia hesitates, eyes suddenly fixed on her plate. She swings her legs under the table and fidgets. She bites her lip.

Maes puts a hand on her head and, ignoring the way his heart aches, beams. "You're sleeping with in the big bed with us tonight," he declares, and the way she instantly brightens is all he needs to brush any last doubts aside.

He knows it's probably not healthy, that they should be trying to help Elicia not need to be with him every moment, not enabling it- but he just doesn't have the heart tonight. Tomorrow, he thinks, they'll start tomorrow, and there's not an ounce of regret in him as Elicia bounces to her feet in her chair, kissing his cheek before flinging her arms around him.

Gracia feels the same way, he can see, when his wife stands up as well, smiling softly down at their daughter with a sad, adoring sort of love. "Come on," she says, holding her hands out, "let's get you ready for bed. We'll leave the boys to talk for a little bit."

Elicia hesitates, seeming not to want to leave him for even that long, but when he gives her another reassuring pat she sighs and nods reluctantly. "K." She takes Gracia's hand, jumps down. "Night, Uncle Roy!"

Roy's smiling too as he waves vaguely in her direction, a softer kind of expression that he hadn't been aware his best friend was even capable of until recently. "Sleep well," he calls quietly, and Maes can't help but roll his eyes, barely even waiting until Elicia's out of the room.

"Sleep well? She's six years old, who says _sleep well_ to a six year old; pompous brat."

Roy's smile becomes an innocent smirk, because Roy is probably the only person in the world who can make a smirk innocent. "I do. There's been a marked improvement in her vocabulary ever since she started listening to me; maybe you should follow my examp-"

"You are such a pompous, pretentious _brat."_

Roy smirks again as he leans back in his chair, relaxing subtly. He runs a hand through his perpetually messy hair, brushing back the bangs he's let overgrow to hide his face- something Maes has no idea if it was intentional or not. "So," his friend begins, folding his hands on the table. "Any plans for the future yet? Or just going to enjoy your retirement? You've certainly earned the right to do the latter."

He sighs, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Gracia was well out of earshot. He knows he'll have to discuss it with her at some point, but at the moment he's too unsure about everything to broker that conversation. "Perhaps, but I don't think I'd be happy unless I was doing something. Besides, I hardly earned anything, Roy. I just got shot. That's not exactly commendable."

That's the thing, isn't it, or one of many _things_ about all of this. Everyone acts like it was honorable and brave, what he did, but- there's no honor in getting shot. He understands that now, more than he ever had before. It wasn't as if he'd planned to overturn a secret so deadly the homunculi would hunt him down, or that he'd gotten shot protecting anyone. The others could talk about glory and honorable sacrifices all they liked; to him, this has never been anything more than a single bullet, a whole lot of blood, and the memory of his wife executing him.

Roy flinches. His hands tense a little, fingers and mouth twitching, and a tremor of something rolls through his shoulders. "I think... we'll just have to agree to disagree, on that," he grumbles finally, turning his head away. He coughs, suddenly withdrawn. "...I'm sorry, you know." His voice has gotten small, and he waves a hand at Maes. "When I was- fixing you- I never thought... I didn't even think of anything but making you wake up... it didn't even occur to me to repair any of the other damage. I wasn't even thinking about- it was stupid, I rushed it, and was selfish, and-"

"My god, Roy, if you're about to apologize for that, then I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up going to hell for hitting a blind man."

"Maes, all I'm saying is-"

"And I'm saying I don't want to hear it." He holds up a hand to stop him even though the motion is futile; he can't help himself. "Roy, I really don't care. It doesn't matter. It's just a job; there are about a hundred things more important than it." He rubs his face after a moment, not feeling that attempted apology even worth wasting time to dismiss. "Even if I could go back, I honestly don't want to, Roy. I could never ask Gracia and Elicia to be okay with that."

He can tell Roy doesn't fully believe him. He probably suspects it's a lie for his sake, because his best friend is an idiot, and evidently has determined that giving up his eyes for him wasn't enough, he should've thrown in an extra limb or two if only Maes would be able to reclaim his old job, too. Sometimes he just doesn't understand Roy's single-minded mission to hate himself or think he's not enough. He's only beginning to understand how much worse it had gotten, after Envy, is realizing that without anyone there to smack and drag him out of his stupidity he'd just done his brooding, dwelling, self-hating, self-blaming _thing_ until he'd nearly destroyed himself with it.

He sighs.

"I really can't you leave you by yourself, can I?" he chides fondly, but with more than a touch of sadness to it. "Idiot. You get the most bizarre ideas stuck in your head, and then I have to spend hours talking them out."

Roy tilts his head, looking uncertain but not very surprised. "The world is a tragedy in the making," he dramatizes with a smirk, gesturing grandly, "and I am its protagonist. Melodrama is my character flaw, and my stunning good looks build my hubris."

"If you're the protagonist, then what the hell am I? Chopped liver?"

Roy smirks again, looking particularly pleased with himself. "The sidekick, of course."

" _Sidekick?!"_

"Yes. Your role is to talk me out of all my bad ideas."

Maes groans. "Then you should listen to me more," he grumbles, getting to his feet. "It'd leave me less pieces to pick up every time you ignore me and go off to be insane anyway." He gives his friend another hard look, rather regretting that he can no longer glare him into submission. His grin fades, however, as he looks at Roy again; still smirking and ten different kinds of smug, but he knows the man well enough by now to recognize when something is genuine, and recognize now when it's only an act, one of those carefully crafted masks he throws up to disguise what is real.

"Roy," he says quietly again, and the levity's faded from his voice now, leaving so he knows he is serious. "Do you want for me to punch you."

The man starts. He raises his head once more, not-looking in his direction and surprise making both the false smugness and the old pain fade. "That... is unequivocally a no."

"Then don't apologize for anything again."

Roy frowns slightly, and that tired sort of pain that he's seen lingering in Gracia's eyes for months, and that they discovered in Elicia tonight, returns, pulling the corners of his mouth down and shadowing his features with old regret and guilt. "Even if I don't say it aloud, the sentiment's still there," he points out softly, and the patience Roy has being done his damn best to wear down this whole conversation snaps.

"Damn it, Roy, can anything ever just be _enough,_ with you? Can you be satisfied with anything? Is that remotely possible for you, or are you _determined_ to always make yourself believe you're second-best?" He smacks a hand to his forehead, loud enough that the idiot knows what it was. "I don't see you applying these impossible standards to anyone but yourself. Beating yourself up for not being _perfect_ doesn't make you better at anything, Roy, it just makes you miserable!"

And now he's arguing at him, though he really doesn't know why and definitely didn't intend to. Maybe Roy's not the only one who feels guilty; maybe he's upset with himself, too, because he's trying to focus only on the present and all the ways him screwing up and standing dumbly in front of Envy's gun has hurt his family and ruined his best friend's life but it's _hard,_ and today is the hardest it's been in a while, Elicia probably already curled up and miserable in his bed while Roy's still _not-looking_ at him like that-

"Maes," Roy says softly after several moments, and he stands himself. He folds his arms, being molded just like that into an unapproachable front. His face is unreadable again, and not just because of the cloth and long bangs covering it. "For five months, I watched as your wife suffered and started to believe you were dead. I watched as your daughter forgot who you were. I could not do anything except sit there and watch. I thought you were dying, Maes; for the longest time I tried to be hopeful for Gracia and happy for Elicia but I thought my best friend was dying and there was nothing I could do about it. I would've given up much, much more than my eyes to have changed things, and I know you don't like that and think you're not worth that, but it's the truth and you can't change it. And I am never going to not blame myself for not realizing how to help you sooner to save your family everything that they went through."

There's a long moment of heavy silence. Maes doesn't have words, doesn't know what to say, and Roy... has that _look_ about him. The kind he has whenever he talks about Ishval, the kind that says he harbors a sense of guilt and responsibility that is never, ever going to change, no matter what he or Hawkeye or anyone else has to say about the matter. He wants to say something, anything- but there's a part of him trying too hard to not picture anything Roy's said, that doesn't _want_ to know what his family went through while he just obliviously slept on. He swallows, hard, fists clenching, and it's not the first time that he thinks, out of all of this, he got the better end of the deal.

Roy tilts his head suddenly, as if listening to something. He smiles. "Your daughter's impatient with you," he says quietly, and takes a step back. "Perhaps, for her sake, we should both quit arguing about things we're not going to change our minds about and focus on the present."

And then, before Maes can question or stop him, the man is backing out of the room- and he hears Elicia a second a later, running after him from his and Gracia's bedroom. She runs to stand in the doorway, hands on her hips and frowning and looking so much like her mother. "You're taking too long!" she accuses, and Maes swears he can hear Roy laugh from somewhere else in the house as his daughter takes him by the hand and bodily drags him back to his room.

* * *

And somehow, like this, they all find a new normal.

Maes heals, as much as he ever will. He may never run a marathon or chase down a criminal again, and there's still daily medication for his heart, and still times when pain strikes him like lightning from a blue sky and he's left breathless and clutching at his chest, but he's survived, and he knows he can't ever ask for anything more. Roy heals, too, mastering Braille and re learning independence... and involving himself so much in the military's affairs he hears that Hakuro is now pushing to ban civilian contractors from base.

His wife slowly stops hovering, slowly stops holding him so desperately and kissing him like it's her last chance to. She smiles more like she used to, and it takes a long time, but there finally does come a day when she stops sitting by the phone every time he leaves the house, fists shaking in her lap and everything about her silently anguished as she waits for the phone call he prays she'll never have to hear again.

There are still nights when she wakes up crying, only waking him up when she silently rolls to press her damp face against his shoulder and wrap her arms around him. She's never told him what dreams it is that leave her quietly sniffling against him in the dead of night, and something inside him flinches and cracks with the thought of what it is. He doesn't ask. He holds her, just as silent as she is, and is starting to understand, just how he and Roy are changed, Gracia is, too, but he knows that as long as he still has her, nothing else matters.

Elicia...

Elicia is the hardest.

She'd been struggling before that day she'd seen him in his uniform, but it's as if that was the straw that broke the camel's back. She now begs almost every night to sleep with him and Gracia, and on the occasions they try to stand firm and not allow it she's so distraught neither have the heart to say no. It reminds him of when she was a baby, and the painful process of learning which cries meant she needed something and which were just for attention- but this is infinitely worse. They'd been able to ignore her crying then, because they had to- now neither of them can. She has terrible nightmares when she sleeps alone and is so miserable he just feels _horrible_ ever saying no. There are still days when she doesn't even want to go to school, and still others when he has to go pick her up early because she started crying for him in the middle of class. She runs to him whenever he gets home, tagging along with whatever errands she can on the weekends, but instantly rushes away whenever they try to get her to talk about it...

It's not the first time he's hated Envy, not for what the homunculus had done to him, but what he'd done to his family, and he knows it will be far from the last.

Finally, one early Sunday morning, after another particularly bad night during which she'd clung to them both, crying and sniffling and begging him never to leave again, they have to accept that just waiting and hoping for her to get better on her own isn't working.

"Please just try it for a night?" Gracia cajoles, begs, pleads, but Elicia is stubborn and won't even look up from the table. "It won't be as bad as you think it will!"

"That's how you get over fears," he tries weakly, but he doesn't sound convincing even to himself. "You can't keep running away from them. You have to face them. Remember when you were afraid of Major Armstrong, but then you let us take you to actually meet him, and you loved him-"

Elicia's pout is so miserable it hurts. "No." She hugs herself, then decides she'd rather use her arms to hide her face and buries her head in them. "No."

"Elicia, please..."

"Don't want to."

God, this is not fair. He can't say no to his daughter like this. He looks miserably up at Gracia, but she's just as helpless as him.

From the corner, where he's been standing silently and shifting awkwardly like he's uncomfortable and wants to make an exit but can't figure out how to do so gracefully, Roy clears his throat. He calls his name softly, and waves a hand vaguely as if telling Maes to get over there.

With another uncertain, helpless look at Gracia, he gets up and follows the silent command.

He'll never get used to how eerily perceptive Roy is without his sight, how he just somehow _knows_ when Maes is beside him and just how quiet enough to whisper that Elicia and Gracia can't hear him but Maes can. "If you want, I can stay with her."

He stares blankly. "What?"

Roy touches his arm, and that's another new thing since he's lost his sight; for someone so insistent on his personal space before, he's startlingly receptive to physical contact now. It's like he's always seeking an anchor to orient himself or confirmation that he's not alone. "I can stay with her in her room, until she feels better about sleeping alone. I..." His face colors and he coughs, slightly. "If you and Gracia are all right with it, you mean."

Maes stares again.

Finally, something intelligent stammers its way out of his mouth- though it's hardly explanative of the dumb shock he finds himself in. "We couldn't possibly ask you- you shouldn't have to-"

"Maes," he cuts in quietly, "the whole point is that she feels more comfortable being separated from you. That won't happen if _you're_ the one sitting up with her all night."

He hates that Roy does have a very valid point.

"...But... but still, Roy, you- we-"

"It's really not a big deal." Roy hesitates, then lowers his voice even more, as if worried he's going to be overheard. "Staying up all night isn't all that bad, when you can't see to know that it's the middle of the night."

"...I..."

Roy shifts nervously, and his cheeks darken even more. "I understand if it's too much. I know it's a little... probably stepping on your toes. It's only if you're okay with it. I... just thought I'd offer. For Elicia's sake."

Thing number three about blind Roy: he has somehow learned that it's possible for him to handle small children without breaking them, and once discovering that- he is _good_ at it.

Maes suspects that this development, unlike the others, has nothing to do with him being blind, and everything to do with him stepping in to take care of his family when he couldn't, but doesn't ask.

He owes enough to Roy as is.

Roy's hand leaves his arm; the man looks even more uncomfortable than before. "Sorry. I- sorry," he stammers, taking a step back. "It's too much, I know. It- I only wanted to- offer-"

Maes catches him by the shoulder before he can make his retreat. He knows Roy, left with only the silence to interpret, has interpreted it the wrong way, and makes sure to tack on a soft, "You worry too much, idiot," before pushing him forwards. "Ask Elicia, Roy. Don't ask me."

Roy stumbles, regains his balance, _somehow_ manages to glare at him. Then, coughing and clearly out of his element, he gets down on his knees near Elicia, carefully feeling his way along the table. "Elicia?" he asks quietly, and waits several moments as if to make sure she's listening before continuing on. "Sweetheart, what if you tried sleeping in your own room for a couple nights- just for now- but I'd be there with you?"

Elicia bites her lip and mumbles something. Maes can't hear what it is, but he imagines Roy can.

"Of course. And he'd still tuck you in and wake you up in the mornings. You'd just be with me instead of him for a couple hours. That doesn't sound so bad, right?"

Elicia hesitates. She lifts her head up a tiny bit out of her arms, wet eyes darting from Roy to her mother to him. She looks back at Roy, then hides her face again. "...n-no," she nearly squeaks, but it's obvious the idea holds absolutely no appeal. "But... but why can't I sleep with Mommy and Daddy?"

Roy gives her a weak smile. "Well... the truth is, I have nightmares, too. So sometimes I don't want to sleep alone, either. So-"

She perks up in the brightest she's been all morning, raising her arms and staring up at them all in hopeful glee. "So you can just sleep with Mommy and Daddy and me! You can sleep with Daddy, too! That'll help! Why can't you just do that? It'll be fun!"

The only word for the sound that comes out of Roy's mouth then is a barely muffled _snork._

Gracia gets down on her knees besides the pair as well, though she's obviously fighting a smile at the mental image. "Well, our bed's not big enough for four, baby."

"Is so!"

Meanwhile, Roy's face is growing steadily growing pinker by the second; Maes figures they need to put an end to this conversation soon before he spontaneously combusts and joins the small group at the table. "Just try it for a night or two, Elicia- please?" And then, because the look she is giving him now is going to rip his heart out of his chest and shred it into a thousand pieces, adds on, "if you have another nightmare and it's bad, and Uncle Roy doesn't help, we'll be just in the next room, okay? If you need us we'll be right there. But can you at least try it? Just for tonight?"

Elicia hesitates again, giving him a long, tearful, considering look. She glances from him and Roy to Gracia, kneeling on her other side, then down to the table. She fidgets again.

Then, head still down, she hops to her feet. She gives her uncle a hug, then the same to Maes' knees, then runs off, all without saying a word.

Maes and Gracia both sigh in relief. Roy looks awkwardly around from the floor. "Did I miss something?" he asks blankly. "Did she nod? Was that a yes? What was the hug for?"

This time, they both laugh, and Maes hauls Roy up to his feet, unable to help a weak smile. "It's a yes, you dolt," he says, and pushes him over to help Gracia with the dishes.

* * *

The next morning, Elicia doesn't say a word to any of them.

All she _does_ do is run to jump on his lap for breakfast, hold his hand all the way out the door and from the backseat in the car, then hug him extra long and hard when they finally get to her school. He has to remind her- voice cracking all the while because he feels _awful-_ that if she gets scared all she has to do is ask the teacher to call him and he'll show up right away.

He still feels awful, even when she finally pries herself away and drags her feet into school, hugging herself and shaking.

"Well," Roy says cautiously when he asks, "it took her two hours to get to sleep at all, and she woke up at least three times with nightmares. I think there was a fourth, but she wouldn't say anything when I asked if she was all right."

Crestfallen, Maes looks to Gracia, already hating himself for even thinking this was a good idea. It's too soon, obviously. What were they thinking, asking her to do this...? "Anything else?" he asks miserably, shoulders slumping.

Roy smiles. "She agreed to try it again tonight."

* * *

It quickly becomes apparent that, no matter how reluctant he and Gracia had been to try it, this new strategy is a winner. Elicia still doesn't like it much, and still tends to cling to him whenever she can- but already, she was getting better. He hasn't gotten a call from her school once this week, and if Roy is to be believed, she's sleeping better, too, even if still not well, and for the first time in weeks every thing feels right again.

It's another tally in the column of the list for _things he can not ever thank Roy enough for,_ and, consequently, another tally in Roy's _don't even worry about it_ one.

It's a week and a half, since this new set up, when Maes jolts awake in the middle of the night, and finds himself in an empty bed.

He wakes himself from nightmares silently; always has, or, at least, always has since Ishval. It was one of the things he had just had to teach himself how to do; his wife does not need or deserve to _ever_ hear the horrible things done there. Those crimes would break her heart, and he can't bear to tell it. Not to her. But all the time he's spent learning how to wake up from dreams of war and gunfire with nothing more than a quiet gasp and a clench of the bedsheets serve him well, now; now that he remembers red unnatural alchemy growing into his wife in front of him, smiling at him as he's paralyzed and killing him where he stands-

Now, he needs it more than ever before.

He can never, _ever_ tell her this.

When Maes slips out of another memory of haunted horror and anguish, he calms his breaths into something steady with practiced expertise and squeezes his eyes shut in the dark. He shouldn't look to his left. That makes it worse. It always makes it worse. He shudders involuntary, the lump in his throat not wanting to be swallowed, and begins to push himself to his other side instead. He's not going to sleep again tonight, but maybe if he just lies here for a while, maybe if he just closes his eyes and doesn't think-

The shift of the bed, caused by his attempt to turn over, makes him stop.

He's alone.

Maes sits up after a moment, one hand blearily reaching for his glasses, but his vision's not bad enough that he can't see the other half of the bed is empty. He frowns at it blankly, his sleepy, still half-panicked mind unsure what to do with it. Where is she? It's the middle of the night. He didn't hear her get up, is she all right? What happened?

Part of him is grateful for the distraction, even if only selfishly; it clears his mind admirably, and he's able to push himself out of bed and focus on his wife, not spend the next interminable hours until morning lying there, trying not tremble. He moves as silently as he can towards his door, left open a crack in case Elicia needs it. He presses a hand to it, preparing to push it open as quietly as possible.

He stops again.

Voices.

"...with Elicia- maybe we _should_ have a family sleepover after all." Gracia.

"I'm... sorry." ...Roy?

Maes frowns. Gracia and Roy? What's going on? Gracia sounds tired but teasing, lighthearted, but Roy's voice is small and the apology was anything but a joke. He bites his lip, moving forward a single step more, just close enough to catch a half-glimpse of his best friend slumped over his kitchen table, hair mussed with sleep and pajama top wrinkled, before driving himself to a halt. Who knows how good Roy's hearing is, nowadays; he can't get any closer without risking being discovered.

Part of him tells him he should leave it alone, maybe ask Gracia in the morning, but- oh, screw it. If Gracia hadn't been all right with his eavesdropping habit, she wouldn't have married him. And as for Roy- well, it sounds like something is wrong, and that makes it his self-appointed duty to figure out what it is, so he can fix it.

"It makes everything worse," Roy is saying, slumping even more severely over on the table. "It wasn't so bad at first, but... I'm starting to... forget, things. Colors, people's faces... I used to still dream in color, at least, but now even that's gone. Ishval is always just heat and the... smell."

"Roy..."

He straightens up suddenly, rubbing his hands hard over his face like he's trying to wake himself up from a dream he's still caught in. "I don't regret anything. Please don't- I'm not saying I wouldn't do it again if I had to. I miss seeing, of course I do, but... Maes was worth it."

"I know that, Roy," Gracia says, just as quietly, sadly. "I wasn't saying you did."

Roy shakes his head. There's a soft sigh, the tenseness of his posture slipping away as he ducks his head again. "...I even knew.. I'd prepared myself for it, I guess." He gives a weak laugh. "As much as one can. I expected Truth to take my eyesight again. I spent the day with Riza beforehand, I made sure to watch Al, I wanted to remember him as he _is_ and not that suit of armor, I made sure to look at _everything_ just in case- damn it, even Hughes, that ugly bastard. I couldn't bear to remember him like _that,_ but- I had this _stupid_ fucking picture he somehow slipped into my wallet one day of all three of you, he said everyone should get to show off pictures of their family, even surrogate members, stupid- god. I looked at the damn thing, I tried to memorize how all of you looked, that was the last thing I ever saw..."

He can see, just barely, his wife reach over to touch his hand sympathetically. Roy, like this newer, quieter, blind version of his best friend was prone to do, shifted closer, as if drawn to prove to himself he wasn't just talking to an empty room.

Roy rubs his face again, the motion heavy and strained. "I'm sorry, I know I should be better than this by now." He shakes his head. "It's been months, and, well, I knew what I was getting myself into. I was prepared."

"Roy Mustang, I think you've known my husband long enough to know what I'm going to say next."

Once again, her answer is a weak laugh. "I know, I know; don't apologize- I know. ...but it's still half past- _whatever_ and you're trying to cheer me up with brandy and a talking to. I think that violates some unwritten rule of how to be a polite houseguest."

"You're family, not a _houseguest._ That gives you limited access to brandy and pep talks."

There's a short silence, which he knows had not been what Gracia was hoping for with that remark. Roy bows his head; one hand rises to fidget with the blindfold, fingers twitching uncomfortably. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even smaller before, hushed and almost broken in the early hours of the morning. "Sometimes I just can't shake the feeling this is all a lie. I'll wake up with just this... _feeling,_ this- undeniable _certainty_ that none of this is real. That I killed him that day, and all of this is just some grand hoax you've put up so I don't lose my mind. I can listen to him play with Elicia and it helps, some, but it's not- then I start thinking _what if you found someone to copy his voice,_ and then _what if you got Elicia in on it to, lie about it to spare poor Uncle Roy's feelings,_ then- it's just like the Promised Day all over again." He groans, burying his face in his hands. "Even though I could hear Riza breathing right beside me it was so _hard_ to convince myself she wasn't dead. Sometimes I couldn't... can't."

"...You've not talked to Maes about any of this, have you."

Roy's head jerks up abruptly, and with a harsh but soft laugh that hurts to hear. "Are you kidding?" he asks, but his voice is still weak with pain. "He's got enough to deal with right now. I can't- possibly-"

"You _know_ he'd want you to talk to him about this, Roy. You're his best friend; you are pretty high up there on his list of priorities."

But Roy's already shaking his head again, tense all over again. He laughs quietly, weakly, once more. "I can't even- Gracia, I can't even do _this_ around him," and Maes stiffens when one pale hand rises to suddenly push the black blindfold out of the way. "I know he can't stand to see it. I know he hates knowing I did this and he can't pay it back. I can't... talk to him about this? He'd just feel awful about it- there's nothing he could even _do,_ just commiserate with me and blame himself for more shit he's got nothing to do with."

"...That sounds like the kind of 'selfless' stupidity he likes to hit you for."

Roy's sigh is softer this time, less anguished, and he nods. "Yes, well, he likes to hit me for a lot of things."

"Roy..."

But the man shakes his head, determined now. "No," he declares, with an air of finality. "No. It's... I think I just have to leave."

" _Roy."_

"Well?" He shrugs with an unmistakeable sense of sardonic amusement. "That's what you're doing for Elicia, isn't it? Making her get some distance, separate them a little? That's one of the reasons I've stayed here for so long, I think. I kept thinking it'd make it easier for me, but all it's done is make him into a crutch for me. Maybe at my own place I'll start to feel better." He pauses for several moments, then shakes his head again. "I'd have to move out at some point anyway, Gracia. I can't stay here forever. I'm about to announce my campaign for Parliament. With the number of reporters and- don't mention this to Maes- probably assassins that'll be out for me, it'll really be for the best if I'm not here."

"Oh," Gracia deadpans. "Yes. That's the way to get me on board. Tell me there's probably _assassins_ gunning for you. That helps."

Roy waves a hand airily, infuriatingly unconcerned. "Don't worry. Hawkeye's not about to let anything happen to me. All the same, though, I'd feel better if I wasn't putting you three at risk."

"You really need to talk to Maes about this, Roy."

"...I know."

There's a pause.

"...Do you feel better at all, at least?"

Roy laughs weakly, and he pushes himself to stand, refixing his blindfold in the same breath. "I still want to go back to your bedroom and shake that idiot awake and make him prove to me he's real, if that's what you're asking."

"That's... hardly encouraging."

"I know." Roy turns, and Maes jolts back from the door just in time avoid being seen- a second later, realizes how futile this is- and hears his best friend laugh again. "But I think I'm just going to go back to Elicia- you know, before she wakes up again."

"...Right. Good night, Roy."

"Good night."

Maes barely makes it back to bed in time to be feigning sleep by the time his wife tiptoes back inside, his eyes squeezed shut and glasses haphazardly folded on the nightstand as he lies there stiffly, with perfectly measured breaths. She slips back into bed as carefully as she can, silently, and within a few minutes, he can tell, she's back asleep.

Maes doesn't get back to sleep at all.

* * *

It's a week before Roy says anything to him about moving out. When he finally does bring it up, it's an awkward conversation built around his Parliament run, which Maes knows full well is an excuse; nothing that he mentioned to Gracia that night is brought up.

He decides he has no choice but to let it go.

For now.

He also decides that if Roy continues to hide things for much longer, he's going to get a Hughes version of a talking to, which, as his friend has already experienced in the past, is not pleasant.

* * *

He and Hawkeye help the man move back into his dust-cave of an apartment. Both offer to stay with him for a couple days to help out, to which Roy merely laughs and brandishes his cane like a sword, proclaiming that if he can handle Central City's sidewalks, he can handle his own home just fine. He and Hawkeye exchange a look, and he catches her silent promise to check up on the confident moron daily.

Hawkeye can't stay long, and quickly leaves after reminding the man about his early morning interview tomorrow and showing him where the suit he was going to wear was already waiting for him. Maes hesitates once she's left; they already had the long goodbyes and fanfare back at his own place, so there's not really much for him to do but bid farewell and leave. But it still feels hollow, as if there's something missing. After everything Roy's done for him, it feels wrong to just leave him alone like this, to blindly fumble around a dusty apartment, and he bites his lip, eyes lingering on the blindfold again and thinking back to what he'd overheard. He should say something- say the scars don't bother him, that he can take it off if he likes, that-

Roy gives a weak, uncertain smile, face turned somewhere to Maes' left. "Sorry," he says quietly. "I know I'm really leaving you in a lurch, with Elicia. Remind her if she needs anything, she can always call-"

And then is being cut off with a loud _oof!,_ as Maes swiftly grabs him by the arm and yanks him close in a firm, inescapable hug.

Roy stumbles in surprise, gives a muffled sort of _mmph_ in surprise and is tense for a moment. But once he realizes what is happening, Maes feels him smile, very slightly, against his shoulder, and then his arms raising to embrace him back.

"You'll call," he orders, and swallows hard; his voice stays thick. "You'll call us if you need _anything."_

Once again, it takes a moment, but finally, he gets a weak smile. "Yes."

He's not done. "You're coming over for dinner once a week."

"...Obviously," Roy concedes, still hiding a grin.

Maes squeezes tighter for a heartbeat, then pulls back. He still grips the man by his shoulders, holding him at arms' length, and looks him up and down for a moment. "I mean it, Roy. No matter what you need, you call us. I don't care what time it is, or if you think it's stupid- you call us, you got that?"

"All _right_ , already," Roy laughs, pushing at him with fake irritation, but Maes holds on for just a second longer.

"If you don't, that makes it the some more of that 'selfless' stupidity I like to hit you for."

He waits.

Roy stiffens.

He opens his mouth, then shuts it. He stumbles back a step, stammers, "M-Maes-" then stops again, plainly stricken.

Maes squeezes his shoulder again, then lets go. "You'll call, then," he repeats quietly, knowing he's made his point. He smiles at him, heart aching that he's the only one in the room the gesture means anything for at all, and takes another few steps back, leaving Roy standing dumbly in the middle of his apartment. He waits for the disbelieving look to fade into something of fond resignation, then smiles again and raises his hand. "Good night, Roy," he says quietly, and slips out.


End file.
